To Dress In Your Lover's Clothes
by sweet-and-simple
Summary: Grell wanted to show the world that he and Undertaker were an item! Sadly, Grell was only too easily distracted... UndertakerXGrell


Grell was nothing if not a proper, passionate woman of admittedly strange quirks and dangerous expertise. However, the keywords there were _passionate woman_, and Grell enjoyed every second of being such.

Passionate about his man, that was ~ and of being his woman ~

And what better way to broadcast his joy than by displaying it?

Grell's slim build, honed after nearly two centuries to be that of a very lithe, very desirable sort, was swallowed whole by a void of black, and he took a step back to study himself in the full-length mirror pressed against the dull gray wall.

No, no, no, it wouldn't do at _all_. Once upon a time, it had amused him. Now, however, he was being _serious_, and this did not say, _property of Undertaker_ so much as it said, _hand-me-downs_. And he would not stand for that at all!

He was, after all, a respectable lady, and ladies simply did not go gallivanting around in cloaks longer than dresses made of some thick, unattractive fabric –

Grell scrabbled at the sleeves of the robe, drawing the collar up to his nose. But, _gods_, it smelled just like Undertaker. His mouth watered and he whined low in his throat. Perhaps, _just_ perhaps, he could consider wearing this anyway. After all, it was Undertaker's most beloved article of clothing and everyone had come to associate it with the mortician, so, by way of deduction, they would know that _he_ was with the mortician.

It was all rather brilliant and Grell was beginning to understand it all the more as he buried his nose into the cloak and refused to pull away from it. Oh, yes, it cleared up his mind very well, though it created quite a troublesome haze and, _oh no_, what an un-lady-like response, that throbbing between his legs…

Now, where was Undertaker?

Grell peeked out of the corner of his eye, both eyes, just to make certain his loony lover hadn't already snuck up on him, a rather _unhealthy_ habit of his, or, anyway, was going to become unhealthy if he kept doing it to Grell. He saw no Undertaker and allowed himself to steal into the mortician's coffin and snuggle into the velvet cushioning that, _oh Gods_, smelled just like Undertaker too, the distinct scent of madness, blood, acid, and wood shaving.

Grell all but purred.

Perhaps he wouldn't even bother going outside, away from this heavenly aroma, this cozy feeling of being content and coddled and cherished, and, perhaps, he would just stay here, in this small space where memories danced behind his closed eyes of delicious nights and very lustful acts of love that could never be mentioned in polite conversation.

That could never be mentioned in _any_ conversation, actually. Gods, Grell could walk in on Undertaker with his 'customers', trying to speak about the things they did, and Undertaker would plug the ears of the dead and tut at him for being so rude.

As he was short enough to do so, he threw the unbuttoned collar of the cloak over his head and curled up into the dark, suffocating warmth of the dark fabric, still feeling it tangle and catch under his heeled boots. The sleeves, already longer than Undertaker's arms, drooped a fair distance longer on Grell, and so he worried with them till his hands were clenched together and the sleeves meshed into one another.

He giggled for a moment, thinking that he must look very much like a shadow in his lover's coffin. Or a wrapped present ~ ooooh, all he needed was a bow!

He would be the best present Undertaker _ever _got.

Actually, he had already given himself to Undertaker… Well, it was the thought that counted!

And then he heard the click of boots on the wooden floor outside his coffin, the demented humming of his lover, and the coffin's lid came soundlessly open, allowing a brush of cool air to sneak into the crooks and tatters of the cloak Grell had abducted.

"Now what do we have here, hmmm? GUWAH HAH HAH! Have I lost my _shadow_?" There was a swish of noise, as if Undertaker had spun around to check to make sure his shadow had, in fact, not left him. "Well, it's not _my_ shadow! Hhhmmm… Oooh ~ I know whose shadow it is ~"

Long black talons hooked in the collar of the cloak and tugged it down far enough that Grell could peak at his lover through one two-toned green eye, devious and loving behind the lens of his red-framed glasses. He grinned cheekily, batting his eyelashes at the retired reaper.

"I knew I knew whose shadow it was!" Undertaker sniggered and pushed his bangs out of his face with one hand, the other feathering a touch across the scarlet reaper's grinning lips. "It is, _hah hah_, my second shadow! How lucky am I, most people only ever get, hmmm, _one_!"

Grell's legs turned to mush under Undertaker's direct stare, unhindered by silver hair, and he whimpered low in his throat as he hugged himself.

"But shouldn't my shadows be closer to me?" Undertaker thoughtfully tapped his chin, still holding Grell's face, and then smirked. "Why, _yes_! Yes, HAH HAH, they should be!" He curled his fingers around the lid of the coffin and slid it back into place as he stepped into the coffin, closing them in.

Oh, yes ~ Grell would much rather stay in all day with his lover than waste time outside.

~::~

_Author's Note: My first Kuroshitsuji fanfic…_


End file.
